


How Shinya seduced Shougo and What Happened After.

by ch1ps0h0y



Series: Psychopaths at Hogwarts [2]
Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, M/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:11:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ch1ps0h0y/pseuds/ch1ps0h0y
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>See the first part of this series, Psychopaths at Hogwarts, for the foundation that these post-Hogwarts chapters are built on.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. There's a First Time for Everything

**Author's Note:**

> See the first part of this series, Psychopaths at Hogwarts, for the foundation that these post-Hogwarts chapters are built on.

The first time it happens, Shougo is caught completely by surprise.

A large, dark grey wolf prowls towards him, blocking his way to the stairs down to the common room. Its lips are pulled back in a snarl, showing dangerously sharp, ivory teeth. Shougo backs away from it slowly until his heels hit the trunk at the foot of his bed. He hastily climbs on to it, as if an extra half metre of height can do anything to deter a fully grown wolf from leaping at him and tearing his throat out.

"If Choe transfigured one of the couches again, I'm going to hex him," Shougo mutters. His wand is downstairs, along with his books and the beginnings of an essay that's due next Monday. He hadn't thought that a quick trip up a flight of stairs to fetch a book would require him to defend himself!

"Nice wolf," he tries, taking another step back. As he does, his head hits the top of the four-poster bed, forcing him to break eye contact with the animal for a crucial second. The wolf pounces, its front paws hitting him in the chest and sending him crashing on to the mattress with a whompf. His first instinct is to go extremely still and shut his eyes, trying not to give in to the fear that at any moment a set of canines will tear into the pale flesh of his throat.

The wolf's hot breath tickles his skin. A tongue rasps against his Adam's apple as he swallows uncomfortably. He can feel the tips of its claws digging into his upper arms as its weight presses him down, its soft fur as it settles on top of his body. The coarse hair around its face scratches at his cheek as a warm pair of lips kisses his jaw-- wait, what?

Shougo's eyes snap open. Instead of a furry wolf's head, he's greeted by the sight of his long-time rival and not-quite-friend, Shinya Kougami. Immediately, he tries to sit up.

"What are you--" Shinya silences him with a kiss, a proper one: mouth against mouth with hands cupping his face gently to hold him still. Shougo's protests are muffled and eventually silenced, the contact lasting for far longer than is proper between two teens who are barely friends, let alone lovers. At the end of it, Shougo stares incredulously at his rival, a turbulence of unfamiliar feelings striking him wordless. Shinya, for his part, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shoots him his trademark smirk.

"Told you I'd become an Animagus before you," he says.

A few seconds later, Shinya almost trips over his feet running down from their dormitory, shielding his head against a flock of angry, twittering birds. As he flees out the door to the stares of numerous Ravenclaws, Shougo can be heard yelling:

"I SAID I'D GIVE YOU A CHOCOLATE KISS, NOT A REAL KISS!"

 

The second time it happens, Shougo is somewhat prepared. But it still comes as a shock.

It's almost Christmas. The castle grounds are buried beneath a thick layer of snow, and both ghosts and suits of armour alike randomly break into festive song. Shougo and Shinya are inside the library, packing in some last minute studying before the break. Shougo is heading home to celebrate Christmas with his family, so they're making the best use of the time they have left together.

"When I sing, you hear no song; I scream when there's nothing wrong. What am I?"

"Mermaid. What looks both ways yet never sees?"

"Mirror." Shinya idly flips a page in the book he's reading, eyebrows drawn forward slightly as they do while he's thinking. He notes something down on a piece of parchment. "All day I follow no matter how fast you run, yet I nearly perish in the midday sun. What am I?"

Shougo frowns, rolling his quill between his fingers without realising that the ink on the tip is smudging on them. Suddenly he brightens. "A shadow." It's his turn to think now. He writes an idle comment about something in the book he has open for reference, which in turn inspires him. "I'm bound and remember every word I was given. I share my knowledge to all with eyes to listen. What am I?"

Shinya smirks. "A book." Shougo is put out that his riddle was solved so easily. They sit in silence for a few minutes, annotating sentences here and there, polishing up their work - but most of the time, they simply sit and read and let the knowledge flow through the pages and into their heads.

"What's white as snow and warm as blood, still yet to grow like a flower bud?"

This riddle stumps Shougo. The quill twirls idly in his hand, feathery tip weaving nonsensical circles above the parchment he's supposed to be making notes on. He stares at the surface not already covered by his tidy scrawl as his mind turns over the problem. So distracted does he become, that he doesn't notice Shinya leaning over until his shadow falls over the parchment. When he looks up, he starts back.

"What?" he asks defensively. The other teen is close enough he can see himself reflected in their slate-grey eyes. Shougo pointedly doesn't look at how temptingly close his rival's lips are, and tries not to remember how they tasted of chocolate ice-cream. From that smile, Shinya seems to knows what he's thinking anyway.

"The answer," he murmurs, inching even closer so that their noses touch; Shougo pays special attention to the rate of his breathing, "is you."

And then their lips meet.

The albino stiffens, a hand jerking up to push Shinya away. Shinya catches his wrist though, and holds it gently but firmly as he presses forward, hungrily sweeping Shougo's bottom lip with his tongue. When Shougo parts them without thinking, the tongue seizes the chance to delve inside his mouth and clash awkwardly with the other tongue waiting inside. Shinya has clearly done this before from the way he takes charge so quickly and thoroughly - Shougo can only fumble his way and respond with whatever his mind instinctively tells him to do. He accidentally bites Shinya's lip at one point and feels a spike of panic, but it only seems to encourage the other boy.

It's amazing how slowly time seems to pass and how small your world seems to become during such moments of intimacy, Shougo can't help but distantly notice as his fingers curl into the front of Shinya's robes and pull them closer together. He feels giddy for some reason. Shinya doesn't taste of chocolate ice-cream this time, but of warm butterbeer smuggled in from Hogsmeade. Shougo knows better than to ask how he did it and, quite frankly, he doesn't care, because right this moment it's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted.

A loud thud - the sound of several heavy books falling on to the floor - startles them into separating. Together, they glance around to see Akane Tsunemori, looking absolutely shell-shocked. She notices them staring and lets out a stifled shriek.

Shougo isn't quite sure what to say, and Shinya looks far too pleased with himself to say anything.

"I-I'm sorry!" she gasps, before fleeing.

Shougo turns right around to punch his friend/rival/annoying bastard in the face, only to have his fist caught by the other's hand. Quidditch training means Shinya's reflexes are better than his own.

"You're shouting me butterbeer when I get back," Shougo growls. The other boy simply chuckles.

 

The third, fourth, and subsequent times are by no means unexpected. Shinya likes to ambush him between classes or drag him outside the castle when he wants a longer snog, and Shougo finds himself getting used to this. But even Shougo is surprised at the turn their relationship takes as the year wanes on.

They are in their seventh year now. Shinya is well on his way to becoming an Auror, just as he's always wanted, and Shougo has kept up with every single one of his achievements despite not knowing what career he'll pursue. They are still known to be each other's greatest rivals, but somehow rumours have gotten out that they're also lovers. Shougo doesn't believe Akane Tsunemori (a Hufflepuff) is someone to gossip, so they must have been seen during their 'private' moments together in-between classes.

Well, not that Shougo really minds these days. They still bicker enough that he can even forgive the incident when, to celebrate his birthday, Shinya let off several wizard firecrackers in the common room, knocking over several vases and charring one or two statues as the sparks bounced off every available surface. Of course, this let everyone know it was his birthday, so there were a swarm of Ravenclaws celebrating with him instead of it being a quiet affair like he'd wanted.

And besides, he's not really sure what they have is a relationship.

That assurance would be challenged in December. Shougo invites Shinya to spend Christmas with his parents, knowing that the other teen usually prefers to remain at Hogwarts rather than visit his mother. To his surprise, Shinya accepts, and they find themselves standing together on the platform at Hogsmeade station along with a crowd of other students heading home for the holidays.

Shougo's parents welcome Shinya warmly, fussing over him to make him feel at home. It isn't often their son brings friends over, and since they're all the same kind, there's no need to hide the bewitched soup stirrer, or the radio enchanted to tune into wizard radio stations, or even the self-cleaning bathtub that, as far as Shougo has known it, has always taken a sadistic glee in getting soap into their eyes. Incidentally, Shougo doesn't see the need to warn Shinya about the eccentricities of said bathtub, so for once, it's him taking sadistic glee in listening at the bathroom door as Shinya shouts at the soap to leave him alone, then collapse beside the door in a fit of laughter as the other teen exits the bathroom half an hour later with his eyes all red, still being hounded by a malicious back scrubber.

"It's taken a liking to you," Shougo smirks later that evening as Shinya unsuccessfully grapples with the brush and tries to lock it in the cupboard in his room. He ends up having to let it out again because the rattling keeps everyone from falling asleep.

The first few days are spent poring over ancient tomes in the Makishima's family library, or out in the backyard skimming over treetops on broomsticks. Shougo hasn't been on a broomstick since flying lessons in their first year, so it's mostly Shinya showing off with hair-raising loops and turns while Shougo watches on queasily from his spot near the ground. When it starts to snow a few days later, they spend an entire morning pelting each other with snowballs until Shougo's mother calls them in for lunch, whereupon they traipse back inside with pink cheeks and bits of half-melted snow in their hair, flushed but happy.

New Years' day brings with it an unexpected cold snap. The snow is so deep that they have to melt pathways through the yard every hour, with flakes continuing to fall through the day and into the night. Fireplaces can only warm a large house such as theirs so much, and there aren't any sources of heating at all in the traditional Japanese bedrooms where Shougo and his family sleep (kotatsu, they had found, had a nasty habit of spontaneously combusting; something to do with magical interference). Shinya, being a guest, gets one of the spare rooms which does have its own fireplace.

On one of those frigid nights, Shougo is shivering so much beneath his quilted blanket he can't get to sleep. Curled up like a foetus, his toes are ice-cold despite being covered with socks, and his fingers aren't much better.

I bet Kougami's sleeping well, he thinks with a sigh. Which gives him an idea: maybe he can sneak into his room. Just for a short while.

Wadding himself more tightly in the covers, he wriggles to his feet and shuffles out of the room hunched over like an old hag. A few minutes later, he slips into Shinya's room - a sauna compared to the iciness of his own.

The ashes of a fire glow cherry red in the grating. They only need a little bit of coaxing and a bit more fuel to start burning again. Feeling his body start to relax as the heat washes over his frozen body, he sits cross-legged before the small blaze with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, eyelids gradually drifting shut of their own accord.

There's movement from the bed. A drowsy voice filters through. "Shou...?"

Shougo glances at the lump on the bed. A head of spiky black hair is poking out, along with a pair of sleepy grey eyes. He looks back towards the fire.

"Go back to sleep, Kou," he says quietly.

"...You're cold, right?" Shinya sticks out his hand and flaps it tiredly at Shougo. "C'mon, it'll be warmer with the two of us."

Shougo considers refusing, but the thought of having to return to his cold futon prompts him to move away from the fire and towards the bed. Shinya makes room for him by shifting over to one side, the bed being big enough that two people can lie comfortably side by side without needing to touch each other. Shougo leaves his blanket on the floor next to his side of the bed and turns his back on his companion. Shinya's right - it does feel warmer sleeping next to someone.

"Goodnight," Shougo says, shutting his eyes. They stay shut even when Shinya rolls over to kiss his cheek.

"Goodnight."

 

Come morning, Shougo wakes to the gentle pressure of two lips against his own, and a firm arm around his waist. As his eyes blink the figure beside him into focus, the lips move down to his jaw and then to his neck, lingering in the dip of his clavicle.

"Morning, sleepyhead." Shinya grins up at him. Shougo catches a hand before it can sneak beneath his kinagashi.

"What are you doing?" the albino demands, trying not to look discomfited (or comfortable) with their current arrangement. The shoulder of the kinagashi, he notices, is on the verge of slipping down his shoulder anyway, which makes him wonder how long Shinya has been awake and what he's been doing to his unconscious body while he slept.

"Waking you up." Undeterred, the other teen continues to kiss his collarbone, down to the smooth, pale roundness of his shoulder. Shougo becomes increasingly flustered when Shinya straddles his body and begins to peel back his kinagashi, exposing skin only a shade darker than his hair. Shinya, by contrast, has been tanned by the sun from all those days spent outside in Quidditch training. Shougo finds himself staring at the well-toned chest hovering just a few centimetres above his own, feeling skinny and bony by comparison. The muscles in that chest and those upper arms go into clutching a Quaffle and keeping it away from opposing teams - they must be strong. Then Shinya kisses him full on the mouth and thoughts of physical inferiority fly right out of his head.

Becoming aware that his body is starting to heat up and respond to the stimulus it's being given, Shougo strives to push his friend away, put some space between them so that he can clear his head and think rationally about what he's doing. But Shinya moves a thigh between his legs and it creates such a delicious line of friction between their bodies that rationale flees his mind as well.

The kinagashi has completely fallen away from his body now - a piece of cloth that cradles his body like the sheets of their bed as his long-time rival-turned-lover marks every inch of his skin with teeth, tongue, and lips. A flush mars his cheeks, and their intermingling breath warms the vicinity better than any fire as Shougo lets Shinya take charge. Kisses he has experience with now; sex, not so much.

(In fact, none at all, as Shinya soon discovers.)

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" he breathes huskily into Shougo's ear when the latter flinches after Shinya wraps a hand around his cock. "Haven't you even touched yourself before?"

"Shut up," Shougo pants, struggling to keep from making a noise that his parents will hear. Which is very hard, considering that every sensation assaulting him now is new, and he has no idea how to compartmentalise them.

Shinya snickers quietly at the albino's pathetic attempts to remain quiet, eyes gleaming as his hand expertly strokes the body beneath him to orgasm--

Shougo wakes abruptly with a gasp, sitting bolt upright.

It's quiet. A chill lingers in the air from last night, quickly filling in the warm space he has just vacated. Beside him, Shinya continues to sleep well on his side of the bed.

A dream?

Shougo swallows thickly, willing his pounding heart to still and the throbbing ache of his arousal to go away. He pushes aside the quilt and makes doubly sure his kinagashi is wrapped tightly around him as he scoots off the bed and tiptoes quietly out the door to the nearest bathroom. There, he locks himself inside and leans against the door, shutting his eyes.

What the hell is wrong with him, having an erotic dream the moment he gets into bed with his friend/rival? He hits his head gently against the door and gives himself a shake. What he needs right now is a cold shower, he thinks, shucking off the kinagashi and climbing into the bathtub (ducking beneath a soap bar missile as he does so). While water drums into the ceramic tub from above and Shougo goes through the usual motions of avoiding the bathroom's various enchanted missiles, the cold water douses the heat from his body and forcibly shocks him back into a calmer state of mind.

Kou doesn't see him in that light anyway, Shougo says to himself as the water finally grows hot. Those kisses are simply his way of teasing him. The day Kou is infatuated with him is the day Kou gets less than an Outstanding in an exam.

 

It's the year 2112. Ever since their graduation ten years ago, Shougo and Shinya have had limited contact with each other. Shougo has a steady job writing articles for the Daily Prophet when he's not writing one of the many books he'll publish in his unknowingly short life; Shinya is kept busy hunting down Dark Wizards for the Auror Office of the Ministry of Magic. Their paths, understandably, do not cross. Not until that one blustery, autumn afternoon in Diagon Alley.

Shougo is in Flourish and Blotts, searching for a book that he hasn't yet read. The bell above the door tinkles, announcing a small burst of wind that stirs the hems of several cloaks nearby before the door shuts again. Used to ignoring the comings and goings of his fellow witches and wizards, Shougo doesn't bother looking to see who has entered. He does, however, glance around when he hears these words:

"White really does suit you better than black."

It's Shinya, smirking at him like he did when they were school children. Shougo drops his gaze to what he's wearing - a cream duffel coat hanging open over a plain white shirt and grey cargo pants - then raises it again to meet his old rival's eyes.

"And you're still wearing what you had on at the graduation ceremony," Shougo replies. "Black, black, more black." And oddly, a marigold scarf. Shinya just grins.

"Thirsty? I have time for a drink or two," Shinya offers.

'A drink or two' becomes three, which becomes four for Shougo when Shinya mentions casually that he's taken a room for the night in the Leaky Cauldron, and that he doesn't actually have any pressing matters to address for the rest of today - nothing that can't wait until tomorrow, anyway. So Shougo lets himself be led upstairs. As soon as the door is shut, locked, the room soundproofed with a quick charm, Shinya's mouth is crushing hungrily against Shougo's, his body pressing the latter against the door, much to the door's displeasure. The albino manages to extricate himself from there and, somehow, they manage to fall into the bed without tripping on any of the clothes they haphazardly shed on the way there.

They proceed much more slowly once they're on the bed.

"I've been waiting for a chance to get you alone," Shinya confides to him as he roams the lithe planes of Shougo's pale body with his hands and lips. "I didn't think it would take ten years."

Shougo threads his fingers through the other man's short hair, hardly able to believe this is happening now. "I thought you were making fun of me: yanking me aside before Transfiguration, pulling me out to the edge of the Forbidden Forest when rumours began to fly around - don't tell me you actually felt something?"

By way of answer, he receives a long, drawn-out kiss. Shougo closes his eyes and parts his lips almost by rote, though instead of being a passive receiver, he reciprocates with as much fervour as Shinya is displaying towards him. When the other man draws back, Shougo smiles a little. "I preferred it when you tasted of butterbeer."

Shinya's hand slips beneath the waistband of his pants. Though that dream he had during Shinya's visit in their seventh year of Hogwarts wasn't the first he was to have of the man since their graduation, he still can't completely hide the flinch that comes with being touched down there. Shinya notices, of course, and raises an eyebrow.

"Are you a virgin? Haven't you even touched yourself before?"

"Shut up," Shougo grouses, pale gold eyes flashing. "I've been too busy with my writing."

Shinya leans down until his visage fills most of Shougo's vision. Wearing a peculiar smirk that practically screams, 'I don't believe you', he leisurely settles between the albino's thighs after removing the last bits of clothing that provide any sort of modesty for Shougo. "You were busy writing," he repeats with a touch of humour. "Is that so?"

Shougo licks his lips uncertainly, eyes refusing to meet Shinya's directly for any significant length of time. Their positions are making him skittish. "Yes."

The man above him smirks, eyes going dark as he bends down further to whisper, "Then you're going to enjoy this."

And Shougo, unsurprisingly, does.

* * *

EXTENDED SCENE

Kou's hand feels exactly the same it did in every single one of Shougo's dreams. Embarrassingly, Shougo reacts to it exactly how he told himself he wouldn't.

"Don't-" He chokes on the next word, hips jerking into Kou's hand as the other man pumps him into hardness - which doesn't take long, given it's his first time. "I- no. Ah! Yes..." Breathing helps. Breathing seems to help. He scrabbles at the mattress and the bed creaks as Kou shifts his weight. Shougo's hair is a mussed halo on the pillow and his thoughts aren't much better. Swallowing back another sentence before it can be cut short by something his bed partner does, he tries to focus dilated pupils on Kou as the man crouches with his mouth next to the blood-infused head. "What- what are you doing?"

Kou smirks at him and flicks his tongue against the tip. The reaction in Shougo is electric: the albino jerks and squeezes his eyes shut, breathing becoming laboured. "This is called 'giving head'," he tells Shougo, before proceeding to engulf most of his partner's length with his mouth.

Shougo flushes such a deep red he looks just like the inside of a pomegranate. As Kou bobs his head up and down, it's only Kou's hands on his hips which prevent Shougo from completely and shamefully taking advantage of the warm, slimy wetness that is his mouth and tongue. He tries though - tries his utmost to thrust against what's holding him down. He'd never have known it was possible to create the sensations that Kou is lavishing upon him.

All too soon, he can feel a sensation building up in his cock that he instinctively knows is an imminent climax.

"Kou," he pants desperately, "I think- I'm-" Too late. His body arches, and from his gaping mouth comes a loud cry as the first orgasm his virgin body has ever experienced hits him like a heavy wave. It's as if something has burst open and let out all the pent up energy that built up inside. His hips jerk unsteadily in Kou's hands as a jets of white fluid fill the other man's mouth, promptly and expertly swallowed.

When it's over, Shougo slumps and shakily rubs at the back of his eyes. Kou wipes his mouth and stretches out beside him, curling a possessive arm around Shougo then kissing his cheek.

"How was that?" he asks quietly.

Shougo turns his head to meet the other man's lips and they share a kiss. He reaches up and his fingertips brush Kou's shoulder, tracing the muscles that make up the other's upper back. "Good," he whispers back. Kou smiles.

"Want to keep going?"

It doesn't take much thought for Shougo to decide. "Yes," he says immediately.

"Roll on to your side then." Kou moves his arm away so that Shougo can shift over, scooping the albino back towards him so that his front and the other's back are flush against each other. Shougo makes a surprised noise at the move and glances over his shoulder.

"How...?" he begins to ask, until Kou hushes him.

"Just relax," he tells him, as his hand smooths over the flatness of Shougo's stomach and partially down one creamy thigh. This close, he can feel his partner shiver. He can imagine the question in Shougo's mind: Is Kou going to give him a handjob from behind? No, Kou's hand - or Kou's fingers, to be more precise - trace up the crack between the albino's buttocks and begin to probe at the hole there. Shougo tenses in alarm and begins to squirm.

"What-" he tries to ask again. Kou hushes him gently - "Relax, remember?" - and carefully inserts a finger into the puckered entrance.

Kou expects it to be tight inside, and it is. The tension in Shougo only makes the muscles inside clench tighter around his finger, forcing Kou to be careful as he wriggles the digit further in. He doesn't want to hurt his partner any more than necessary. To distract Shougo from the discomfort, he attempts to talk the man through what he's doing.

"I need you to loosen up," he tells Shougo. "You know how men enter women? We obviously don't have a vagina, so the only place is through the anus. I'd have to do this with a woman as well if it's her first time, but the anus always needs to be widened."

Shougo looks doubtful, but seems to appreciate the explanation. It's probably mostly thanks to the trust he has for Kou that the anal muscles are beginning to slacken in the first place. Not quite enough for him to try inserting an aroused cock, but enough to insert a second finger. Which he does.

"You've done this before." Kou doesn't see any reason to deny it.

"Yes," he says, beginning to rub the two fingers back and forth along the passage. Good, it's flattening out. He withdraws the fingers for a moment to apply further lubricant from a tube he keeps handy beneath his pillow before reinserting them. "Never more than once with the same person though."

Shougo cranes his head around to look at Kou. "Practising for me?"

Kou almost smiles. Trust the man who was once his rival in all things academic to deduce his motive. "Yes." Right on cue: as he crooks his fingers to delve deeper into his partner's rear, the joints rub against Shougo's prostate.

A violent frisson causes the albino to convulse; his foot accidentally kicks Kou's shin, but Kou is more interested in the sound that leaves Shougo's mouth than the ache in his leg. Smirking, he probes about until he finds it again.

"Stop-" The word, cut off by a yelp, dissolves into a shameless moan that does more for Kou's libido than what they've already done. Being the only one still wearing any sort of clothing, his erection presses painfully against the zipper of his work pants. With his other hand, he impatiently removes everything and kicks them off the bed as he works to further widen the ever-loosening ring of muscles in his lover's rear with a third finger.

"That's the prostate," Kou somehow manages to explain past heavy, anticipatory breaths. "It's what you aim for with any man." Judging Shougo to be ready, he removes his hand and gives himself a cursory slickdown, gently spreading the other's pale cheeks with his hands and positioning himself. "Ready?" he asks huskily.

"No..." But Shougo shifts back slightly so that the tip of Kou's length touches his entrance.

Taking that as an invitation, he pushes himself inside.

Shougo inhales sharply. Kou waits as the albino wriggles about, letting him become accustomed to the feel of him inside while his chin rests on the other's shoulder and his arm fastens securely about Shougo's waist. After a few moments, his partner settles and rests his own arm over Kou's.

"What now?" Shougo asks.

Kou huffs a laugh. He moves back a little and then thrusts back in. Shougo's face grows scarlet once more.

"Don't feel like you have to keep quiet," Kou murmurs to him, forcing himself to repeat the movement at a steady pace despite how much he wants to go faster. "You're the one who put the Muffle charm on the room, after all."

He's not sure whether Shougo heard him or not, but either way, the albino emits the most delicious sounds he's heard of any of the partners he's taken to bed to date. Maybe it's because he's wanted this moment to come for a long time, or maybe it's because Shougo is sensitive to his movements. Whatever the case, Kou finds himself picking up the pace in order to hear the other man's gasps turn to lewd exultations, to hear stifled moans grow loud and unashamed, and to feel their hands grasping behind for purchase against his sweat-sheened skin as he rocks them both harder and faster to the point where even the aged bed frame is shaking with them.

"Come for me," he whispers harshly, and Shougo's eyes flick open for a few brief moments, glazed over with lust for him - _him_ \- before being hidden behind eyelids screwed shut. The albino's breathing grows heavier. Shougo, who until now has confined his writhing to something manageable, starts to buck and push back against Kou. Kou's lips pull back into a predatory smile as he responds by angling his hips in a concentrated attempt to find his partner's prostate.

When he hits it - it's abundantly clear when he does - Shougo shouts something inarticulate and clenches wonderfully around Kou's cock, jerking as the results of his second orgasm spill over the bed linen.

Kou smiles in satisfaction. He continues to drill into the other man until he, too, releases his seed with a much more quiet grunt. He remains where he is for a moment, catching his breath, then with a muted plop, he draws out of Shougo and collapses on to his back, staring at the hangings above the bed.

After a few minutes in which the two of them quietly gain their composure, Kou hears bedsheets rustle. Shougo rests a cheek against his shoulder and threads their fingers together. His naked body is a welcome warmth at Kou's side.

"There'll be a second time, won't there?"

Kou's head lolls to the side, lidded grey taking in the matted strands of white hair that spill casually between the junction of Shougo's neck and shoulder, as well as the angular curves of a male body that somehow holds more attraction to Kou than any woman's. He drinks in the sight of Shougo's naked body like a thirsting man for a long while before he finally meets his friend's - lover's - gaze. Dark gold, insightful, perceptive, waiting patiently for his response. Kou reaches over and brushes a strand of hair behind Shougo's ear, circling the soft shell before cupping the albino's cheek.

"And more," he promises, sealing his words with a long, slow kiss.


	2. Empathic Fallacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shougo and Shinya have graduated from Hogwarts and gone their separate ways, but the red string of fate that binds them has brought the two together again. Yet just as it seems as if their relationship is finally settling, the responsibility of investigating a string of serial murders dubbed collectively as the 'Specimen Case' lands in Kou's lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work uses British English and the Western order for names (first name/last name).

It's been seven years since Kou was made an Auror. It will be eight come December, and two Decembers after that, he'll have had this cubicle and desk and chair for a whole decade. Yet Kou doesn't feel weary at all: every chase he's sent on, every Dark wizard he pursues, reminds him that his life is a brief, guttering candle easily snuffed out by one careless mistake, or one well-aimed Killing Curse.

Leaning back in his chair and propping his boots up on the desk, he studies a piece of parchment written in neat cursive containing the occasional flourish. As he reads, his hand hides a smile that he's unable to suppress, concealing it behind a serious, thoughtful veneer.

"Kougami?"

Kou starts, almost falling backwards off his chair. The parchment is hurriedly folded down as he glances around at the source of the voice. A petite, hesitant-looking young woman stands at the mouth of his cubicle. "What is it, Akane?"

She gives the parchment in his hands a curious glance. But being too polite to ask, she keeps quiet about it. "No, nothing. It's just" - her gaze shifts to a point above Kou's head - "that memo has been trying to get your attention for a few minutes now."

Kou looks up. Sure enough, there's a paper aeroplane flapping exhaustedly above him, waiting to be noticed. When he holds out his hand, it sails down gratefully and opens up for him to read. Putting the other parchment aside, he almost forgets about Akane. But when he looks up to thank her, she's already gone.

He returns to the memo. "I would like you to investigate the Specimen case. Prioritise this over whatever other work you may have," he reads in a mutter. The words fade away and the ink spiders out into an official writ of investigation from the head of office. Kou lets out a low whistle as he examines it. "He's serious."

Kou had begun gathering clippings about the case from the Daily Prophet already, keeping track of progress through word of mouth around the office. It shouldn't be too hard to assume the role of investigator. Which reminds him...

"Hey, Akane." He pokes his head over the cubicle wall as she turns in her chair to face him - she has her desk across from the aisle from him. "Who was the guy investigating the Specimen case?"

She makes a face. "Sasayama, I think."

Kou frowns and looks over at the cubicle adjacent to his. It's vacant, as usual. His colleague usually spends his days out of the office while his nights are spent at one of the pubs in Hogsmeade flirting with witches. The rare times Kou does see Sasayama, the man is often hungover, drooling, and dozing on his desk. Well, Kou supposes his determination and drive can't be faulted when it comes to Dark wizards. What the man does in his spare time is his own business.

And to be quite honest with himself, he does like hauling the guy up to the Atrium and throwing him into the fountain to sober him up.

Sitting back down in his chair, he reluctantly starts to unpin all the clippings and notes he began making on his current case, taking them down from the corkboards that make up the three walls of his cubicle and storing them in a drawer for later. Given how long the culprit has gone uncaught, he has a feeling the Specimen case will require more than a half-hearted attempt to catch its perpetrator. It's a bad feeling leaving a case that he's been working on these past few weeks hanging, but priorities are priorities.

It takes all day to pull together the bits and pieces from newspapers and sparse notes that Sasayama has left behind. As the circumstances surrounding the incident become more transparent, Kou finds himself immersed in the complexities and barely tangible connections that the case presents. He even eschews food, ignoring all of Akane's attempts to force a sandwich on him in favour of the puzzle that is this serial murderer. And as the long hours of sifting through paperwork pass, interspersed with the occasional magical explosion from somewhere downstairs, the sunlit sky shown through the fake windows of their offices darkens to amber-gold.

 

Shougo gazes at their latest human sculpture. Produced by a combination of Muggle science and magic, it is a twisted parody of the living body, broken and bent out of shape, limbs sawn off and attached where they shouldn't be in natural human anatomy - a hideous Lovecraftian creation. Its contorted rictus of a grin almost unsettles him enough to want to turn around and go back to his books. His hand is halfway to the pocket sewn into the inner lining of his coat to do just that when a man speaks.

"What do you think, Shou? Isn't it a beautiful work of art?"

Shougo's eyes flick to the young man who stops by his side, gazing with open adoration for the 'art' that he has created. Brown hair, brown eyes, a friendly open face shining with an innocence that does not exist in his heart. He hardly looks like the young boy Shougo remembers meeting so many years ago on the train to Hogwarts. Shougo's eyes flick back to the sculpture.

"It has a certain charm," he says. The other man emits a curious sounding laugh, as if Shougo has made some sort of joke.

"You are very good, Shou. Very skilled," they breathe, stepping forward to gently run a few fingers down the sculpture's bulging arm - a religious devotee filled with rapture for his idol. "It wouldn't be so flawless without your help."

"All I did was cast a spell," he replies dismissively. A spell to cease blood flow and preserve the body in pre-death state. A spell to force the muscles to remain rigidly in place against gravity. Choe hadn't known why Shougo needed such spells, but he had appreciated the interesting challenge it presented and agreed to keep his asking about it a secret.

"You are modest. But I don't only mean helping me with my work. If it wasn't for your talent with charms, I would have been discovered already." The other man takes one step - two steps - closer, bringing him upon the verge of entering Shougo's comfort zone. Every movement is controlled and refined, trying neither to be intimate nor aloof. Even so, there's a feeling of wrongness about him that cannot be shaken.

"Yes," Shougo says quietly, staring down at their dark brown eyes. "Very daring of you to seek the help of someone so closely affiliated with an Auror."

A smile, sly and knowing. "If you would only agree to let me immortalise him, Shou." They take a third step closer, reaching up to caress his cheek. "It would save you so much potential heartache."

Shougo hums vaguely, turning away from the sculpture and simultaneously moving back from the other man. The sculpture's unblinking eyes seem to accuse him. "You will have to move it into place on your own today, Kouzaburou. I have somewhere to be."

"Very well. Take care, Shou." The words are like a caress against his back, rife with hidden meaning and fraught with innuendo. Even when he steps out into sunlight, the feeling lingers like a thin shadow clinging to his back. Persistent. Slimy.

The last sound that he hears from inside is Touma cooing to his creation, and then the door shuts. Shougo shivers, turns his collar up, and quickly strides away from the place.

 

6.49pm, the corner of a busy street: Kou, his work finally done for the day, meets his lover outside a popular sushi bar almost an hour later than promised. Seeing them distracted by their novel, he sneaks up quietly and covers their eyes.

"Guess who?" he says, putting on a gravelly voice.

They smile and try to tug the hands away. "I know it's you, Kou."

Kou removes his hands and smirks as the man turns around. He takes a moment to admire the play of amber light in Shougo's - his lover's - snowy hair, accenting their golden irises.

"Sorry I'm late. You know how work is." They embrace briefly and share a kiss.

"If you shout me my first drink, I'll consider forgiving you," Shougo teases as he takes Kou's hand and they step inside the bar. A wave of lively chatter and dim, atmospheric lighting washes over them as they're directed to a pair of seats near the end of the bar. Kou immediately orders a bottle of sake for them both.

"Have you made any progress?" Shougo asks as Kou pours him a glass. Being in a Muggle establishment, they can't talk openly about their work.

"I did, but then the head of the department assigned me to another case, so I have to suspend that investigation for now."

"Oh?" Kou tries not to be unduly fascinated with the elegant way Shougo arches one of his eyebrows as he asks, "Which one?"

"The serial murders." Kou lowers his voice. "The one where the corpses are turned into sculptures."

In the process of taking a sip, Shougo chokes on the alcohol and starts coughing. Kou thumps his back and smiles away the amused stares they draw until Shougo can draw breath.

"The Specimen case?" Shougo hisses.

Kou nods. "The previous investigator disappeared. So I was asked to continue where he left off, and to find him as well if I can."

Shougo takes another cautious sip of his drink, staring into the tiny glass. "It's a very difficult case, isn't it? There haven't been any new leads for a few months."

"I'm hoping to change that," Kou stated with a smirk, making Shougo laugh.

"Yes, there isn't anyone who can evade you for long, is there." He offers a small toast towards Kou and downs the rest of the contents of his cup, gripping it tightly.

The night ends in the usual fashion: they Apparate to Kou's home together - a lovely little place that overlooks the sea, conveniently close to a population of Merfolk which Kou likes to converse with from time to time. In the months since their relationship began, they've spent days at a time resting on the sand as the waves lapped at their heels, Shougo learning the local Mermish dialect from Kou, and Kou learning Parseltongue from Shougo for the sake of learning it.

Tonight, like every other night when they have the chance to meet up, Kou pins him to the bed and kisses him breathless. Their clothes are flung off, piece by piece, until it's only their naked bodies twining, grinding against each other's, and the loudest sound is that of their muffled grunts and pants and the creak of the bed. At the end of it, Shougo will usually curl up in Kou's arms, Kou having a tendency to fall straight asleep after they've finished. With his lover's warmth at his back and their arm around his waist, most of the time he has no trouble falling asleep as well. But tonight he lies awake, thinking.

Kou is investigating the serial murders now. Serial murders that Shougo has been knowingly part of for months. Opening up further as dinner progressed, Kou had said that the previous investigator disappeared a few days back, which disturbingly coincides with the time that Touma had him preserve and 'sculpt' their latest work. Functioning as something like a supervisor or assistant to the man, Shougo prefers not to enquire too deeply about the victims' identities. Perhaps he should rethink that decision.

His skin crawls. Wide, unblinking eyes seem to gleam at him from the gap between Kou's wardrobe doors.

Shougo sits bolt upright, flinging off Kou's arm. He stares at the doors, frozen, as the cooler temperature of the room raises goosebumps on his arms. His sudden movement has woken Kou, who sits up more slowly behind him and glances at the wardrobe Shougo is staring at.

"Shou? What's wrong?" Firm arms wrap around his waist. "You okay?"

Shougo lets Kou gather him against his chest, not afraid, not even spooked. There is no rapidly palpitating heart and racing pulse to calm. He isn't even shaking. "I'm fine," he says distractedly - and it's true.

Kou isn't convinced. He starts to get out of bed, reaching for a shirt. "I'll make some hot chocolate. For both of us," he adds when the albino looks about to protest.

The wardrobe is quite lacking in any sort of eyes when Shougo glances at it again. He rubs his own as Kou disappears into the kitchen, unable to shake the knowledge that the eyes had been the same as those of the latest victim. If not fear, what is it that startles him so much about the eyes in the dark? If not trepidation, what is this uncomfortable sensation that seems to shadow him and gnaw at the back of his mind? Is it guilt?

It isn't guilt, Shougo realises. It isn't anything.

"You're wearing that look."

Shougo glances up. Kou is standing at his side, clad only in his shirt and holding two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. He takes the one offered to him and wraps his hands around it, staring at the foamy top layer. "What look?" he asks.

"The look that says you're thinking deeply about something." Kou sits beside him and wraps an arm around his shoulders, saying nothing more, offering simply the comfort of his presence.

After sitting in silence for several more minutes, sipping from their mugs, Shougo speaks up. "Have you ever been to Azkaban?"

Kou nods. "Twice. Remember the attempt to assassinate the Minister three years ago? I was part of an escort that brought the culprit to Azkaban. And again when he escaped." He grimaces. "It's not a pleasant place. But they say it's better than it was when Dementors guarded it."

"I see." Shougo leans against Kou's shoulder, careful not to spill his drink. At first, he'd felt self-conscious about being openly naked in front of his lover, but now he is as comfortable in his bare skin as he is clothed. "Be careful, Kou," he says in a low voice. "Dark wizards are dangerous."

The shoulder he leans on shakes as Kou chuckles. The arm around him gives him an affectionate squeeze. "Don't worry, I'll always come back to you."

 

The body of Mitsuru Sasayama is found early the next morning, displayed prominently at the base of the large, golden fountain in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

Kou is amongst the first to see the corpse, though it's mere coincidence that his needing to pop in and grab something from his desk brings him to the Ministry in the first place. A loose semi-circle of horrified witches and wizards stare at the body in horror, if a 'body' it can still be called. Sasayama's internal organs are draped like grotesque charms from rigid limbs sewn on to his shoulders and torso, in some hideous parody of the goddess Kali. The skin has been stripped back from his chest, arms and legs, leaving the dull maroon of muscle and sinew visible, but his head has been left intact. Wide, hazel eyes and a half-open mouth frozen in a scream still manage to convey the fear and agony that the former Auror must have felt during the final moments of his life.

Kou turns away and covers his mouth. This is the first time he's seen one of the so-called sculptures personally, and far from making him feel sick, it fills him with absolute fury.

Rapid footsteps. "Kougami, what-?"

"Don't look!" he says harshly, roughly grabbing Akane's shoulders and spinning her around before she can see.

She freezes in place at his words. Then cautiously, she turns her head slightly so she can peer at Kou from the corner of her eye. "What happened?"

"Another murder," he tells her shortly, releasing her when he's sure she won't try to look. "I need to get a file from my desk. Promise me you won't look at the...at the body."

She hesitates then nods. "All right, but-" Before she can finish, Kou is already gone.

The file Kou mentioned is sitting on his desk, where he left it the other night. Snatching it up, he rushes back up to the Atrium and sees that Sasayama's corpse has already been cordoned off with hovering ribbons. Ministry workers are being ushered away, but Kou sees Akane, staring aghast at the sculpture just like he told her not to. Striding over, he yanks at her arm and pulls her towards the lifts.

"I told you not to look!" he snaps at her. From the limpness of her hand, she's still in shock.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't- I thought-" He's not sure what he hears is a sob or a shuddering gasp, but he stops and takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to face him.

"Akane, look at me. Look at me." He waits until she meets his gaze before continuing. "Breathe. Stay calm. Think of something else; think of that- that wizard you like down the hallway, in Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. You like him, right?" Akane laughs unsteadily and shakes her head, but at least she seems calmer. "Think about him anyway. You remember he brought in a tea strainer one day and it sprayed him with tea leaves? He couldn't stop sneezing for over an hour and Yuki had to come over from St Mungo's to sort him out."

That seems to do the trick. Akane is giggling nervously now, like she knows she shouldn't be laughing about the incident. As they die away, she takes a deep breath and straightens. "Thank you, Kougami. I...I think I'm all right now."

A short time later, after ascertaining that Akane is indeed quite well, Kou accompanies her to the lift. He waits until it descends out of sight before moving back towards the sculpture of his now-deceased colleague.

Approaching the body, Kou can see from one glance that there isn't much by way of forensic material to be gleaned from it. He has to swallow back bile as he leans forward to scrutinise the corpse, hoping that by working through the processes Sasayama's body went through, it might reveal something about the mind of the criminal. He already knows, from glancing at the file, that the perpetrator is most likely male. All the victims (save for one politician, and now Sasayama) have been female. Sasayama must have treaded too close to the truth to end up this way.

The first cut was likely made at the stomach, Kou decides, reaching towards the flab of muscle that shows a neat incision. When he touches it, he snatches his fingers back. Sasayama had been right - all the corpses, including the former Auror's own now, are preserved with what seems to be the vigour and vitality they had before death. Magic is involved, obviously. But this is not magic typically taught to medical students, or any student for that matter. Could it have been learned from a book?

Kou searches further for other clues, but finds none. Nodding to a small team of witches and wizards waiting to take the corpse away, he steps outside the ribboned area, tucks the file from his desk inside his coat, and heads towards the fireplaces. Right now, he needs somewhere quiet to gather his thoughts and calm himself for the hunt. Stepping into the flames, a short spin later he steps out of the grate straight into his coastal home and immediately heads to a table to spread out all the papers and photographs within his file.

Five months ago on the approach to Halloween, the witch who became the first victim of the Sculptor (that was the murderer's designation in the file) was found in Hogsmeade. She had been taken apart neatly from the neck down (a trend that the Sculptor's future victims would follow) and assembled into a grotesque Halloween decoration left amongst some pumpkins outside the Three Broomsticks. The bones of her ribcage had been taken and used as a frame for the cured human skin stretched across it - a mockery of the larger, orange vegetables. Her hands, sawn off the arms, were attached to the sides like freakish bats' wings, and her feet were similarly attached to the base to make it look as if the 'pumpkin' was sitting down with its feet up. Finally, the woman's eyeballs were glued to the front, staring blankly at Kou through the faded sienna colours of the Daily Prophet clipping. The rest of her body was purportedly found inside the ribcage.

All the other photos show similarly disturbing scenes: the second victim, another witch, found masquerading as a barrel of ingredients at a popular apothecary; the third victim, a prominent politician, various bits and pieces found decorating a Christmas tree in 10 Downing Street (his heart served as the 'star' at the top of the tree); and so on. All found in very public locations, following no apparent pattern or design. The care taken to portray their bodies speaks of a subliminal, almost sadistic message: 'Look at this, this is who we are. Bone, flesh, sinew.' He glances at Sasayama's messy annotations then tosses the clippings back on to the table.

There's nothing new for him to gain from these. He needs to gather new information. New leads. He needs to find out if a spell exists to preserve the dead as they were during life, even as their bodies are being dissected. He starts to prepare to Apparate to one of the nearby wizarding libraries, but then halts as a thought occurs to him. Why not save himself some time and ask an author directly?

He dispatches an owl. Ten minutes later, Shougo Apparates with a crack into Kou's front yard, looking puzzled. Kou immediately drags him inside.

"What-?" Shougo begins to ask. Kou overrides his question.

"I need your help," he says abruptly. "I admit that I haven't read as many books as you have." A glare suffices to keep Shougo's mouth shut and humour in check (the bastard still smiles though) as Kou bulldozes on, "So, I need you to tell me if there is a book with spells, maybe dark spells - anything - that can reproduce the state of" - he pulls Shougo over to the table and points out the photographs - "these corpses."

Kou looks back at Shougo, expecting to see the same feverish enthusiasm that has infected him. But Shougo is staring at him with a worried frown.

"Kou, I don't think you should be working on this so soon after seeing him."

"I'm fine," he states with the faintest hint of aggravation. "Is there a book or not? Anything where it can be learned from?"

"No, but-"

"Damn it!" Kou curses, kicking a chair leg and knocking it askew in the process. "Then it must have been invented by the killer." He snarls silently at the array of reports and pictures in front of him, grey eyes sharp and burning intently. For a moment, he'd felt like he had something, but it amounted to nothing just like all the other threads and connections Sasayama had previously tried to trace. He refuses to give up though, searching for another unexplored possibility to pursue, already forgetting the presence of the man beside him.

Shougo remains where he is, watching his lover brood over the case. The Fidelius Charm he cast for Touma means he can't tell Kou about either of their involvement in the murders, but that doesn't mean he can't give a hint. "Do you remember the incident where several students disappeared during our sixth year at Hogwarts?" Kou shakes his head impatiently. "They investigated many of the students, but they could never find the bodies. In the end, they took someone away. No-one noticed because the Slytherins covered up for him."

That seems to reach through Kou's blind anger. Eyes like slate turn towards him, hard and flat. "Touma Kouzaburou," he grinds out. "I remember him."

 

"What was his face like, Shou?"

The albino doesn't respond immediately, turning over a page in his book. In the background, he hears a faint plop as something is dropped into a vat of acetone. A spell muttered. It's been almost two weeks since the last corpse was displayed and the two of them are preparing their seventh sculpture.

"He was distraught, as I'm sure you can imagine," Shougo eventually says.

He doesn't have to look to see the self-satisfied smile on Touma's lips. "Tell me what his eyes were like. The shape of his mouth, the flare of his nostrils; were his hands shaking, did his chest heave? Did he threaten me? Did he try to," the other man's breathing quickened audibly in his excitement, "hurt you? In my place?"

There's a lengthy pause in which Shougo reassesses the depth of his co-conspirator's sadism.

"No," he replies finally. "Kougami knows who or what his emotions should be directed towards. He would not use me as your substitute." All the same, he thinks of the too-hard kisses and harsher than usual words, growled to him rather than whispered when they next shared a bed, a few days after Sasayama had been discovered.

The other man comes into his peripheral. "You aren't a very good liar."

"Then it's a very good thing you are Secret-Keeper and not I."

The sofa Shougo is sitting on sinks a little as Touma fills the vacant spot beside him. Shougo hasn't noticed before, but the other man smells remarkably clean - not at all like the blood and viscera involved in his work, which is what he imagined Touma scent was up until now. The albino always worries Kou will smell something amiss the next time they sleep together.

"Shou, I've been wondering: what is love?"

Shougo lifts a questioning eyebrow. "Biologically, physiologically, or-?"

"No." Touma's face is utterly devoid of expression. "What _is_ love? All this time I've watched you when you speak of him, and I notice your manner changes. You try to hide it, but you look so much more...alive when you mention his name. As if even thinking about him gives you the same pleasure as being in the same room with him. It isn't like me and my princesses at all." His voice and manner are all at once insecure, a contrast to the confident front he usually assumes.

Touma, Shougo reflects, is still very much like a child wanting guidance from a parent. Sometimes he metaphorically clings to his hand and hangs on to his every word, other times he displays an extraordinary maturity and self-awareness of his actions. Are there two Toumas concealed within the one mind? Or is he simply seeing two facets of a single, deranged man?

"Love," Shougo begins, for once not knowing where his words will lead him, "is something intangible. You cannot catch it or make it your own. It cannot be forced into being. The idea that you will recognise it when you feel it is ridiculous because very often you won't."

Touma stares at him, neither commenting nor reacting. After a moment, he asks, "How did you know, then?"

"It was more like 'when'." Shougo idly strokes the spine of his book. "He touched me. Kissed me. We slept together several times."

"Are you sure that was love?" The brown-haired man's head is tilted like some curious sparrow.

The albino's hand pauses over the page. Touma shifts closer, daring to cup a hand against his cheek to gently coax it his way. Their eyes meet, and it's like the paleness of Shougo's eyes is being swallowed by an abyss. "It was your first intimate moment, wasn't it? That wasn't love, Shou." Touma leans in while his hand continues down, caressing jaw, neck, collarbone, before teasing aside the collar of his shirt. "If you really love him," he continues in a low voice, "you'll push me away if I touch you. Like this."

A slight flush creeps up Shougo's neck as the other man's palm slides down his shoulder. One of the buttons comes undone, but a hand on Touma's chest stops him from going further. The brown-haired man looks surprised, though Shougo merely says warningly, "Wand. Scalpels."

A smile. "I left them on the table." Touma dips his head and Shougo raises his chin, letting the other taste his skin. Golden eyes observe his body reacting to the ministrations of a man he doesn't feel anything for, the same reactions his 'lover' elicited. He allows Touma to undress him, suffering the other's hands upon his bare skin as the chill of their hidden killing ground meshing with the heat rising from his skin. Unlike the passionate coupling that he experiences with Kou, with Touma it's more like a leisurely session where the two of them play voyeur. A mutual exploration of skin with teeth, tongue, and lips. It's not until he's about to peel the final layer from the other man's body that he stops, forcing his partner to pause as well.

_What am I doing_ , he wonders. Seeming to understand, Touma presses a soft kiss at the corner of his lips. To Shougo, it feels like he's just been fouled by something irremovable. He hears this soft whisper in his ear, a puff of filthy air as he's pressed back into the sofa:

"People like us don't love, Shou." Touma's face, his eyes, fill his vision. "We reciprocate."

_What did I just do_ , Shougo wonders to himself an hour later. He's buttoning up his shirt, Touma is pulling on his trousers.

"There's something I need to purchase from Borgin and Bourkes," Touma says as he fastens his hooded cloak. A wave of his wand cleans up any mess they've made. "Do you mind continuing from where I left off for a little while?"

"No." Shougo waves the other man off and stands to don the rest of his clothes. After the door shuts and he's fully dressed, he approaches the acetone tank where several dismembered body parts lay soaking. Just a little bit longer and they can be treated with magic.

 

Kou prowls Knockturn Alley like a menacing panther. The Sculptor - or Touma Kouzaburou, as he's coming to synonomise the two - is proving elusive. For a while, there had been a trail - faint, but present. Yet that trail had gradually petered out and come to nothing, forcing him to retrace his steps and sniff out people of questionable character. Those who dabble in the Dark Arts often know others of their ilk, except even his threats and intimidations yield nothing. There is a pervasive fear that talking will get their name notched on the killer's list, and cowards will always be more willing to save their skin now than risk it on a venture which might not be fruitful.

Though it's only about an hour past noon, the tall, crooked buildings cast dark shadows on the narrow streets. Wind gusts down the corridors, flapping cloak hems and contributing to the generally sinister atmosphere the place cultivates. Kou feels none of it though, striding hunched over but alert, grey eyes scanning the tightly shut doors, dusty windows, meeting every pair of skittish eyes.

In his frustration, he reaches out and grabs a cloaked and hooded figure as they try to slink past him.

"Have you seen anyone with short, brown hair, brown eyes..." The figure is already shaking their head and he shoves them away with an annoyed 'tsk'. "Touma Kouzaburou?" he tries, on the off-chance the name is familiar. They hesitate, and he pounces. "You know the name? Where is he? _Where?!_ "

They seem to think for a time. Then they glance around for watchers and, seeing none, rummage in a pocket for a piece of parchment and a battered looking quill. After scribbling something down, they thrust the parchment into Kou's hands and dash off before he can say a word.

He frowns after them, but lets them be. There are all sorts frequenting this disreputable alley - there isn't any point in pulling over every witch or wizard acting shiftily here without pretext. Inspecting the parchment, he sees that there's an address written on it. Finally, something to pursue! It will probably turn out to be a false lead, but it's better than doing nothing.

He strides towards the street listed, filled once more with purpose. As he draws close to the location, he draws his wand and keeps it hidden amongst the folds of his cloak. It's in absolute silence that he approaches the door, wordlessly waving his wand on the possibility that it isn't protected by an anti-Unlocking Charm.

It isn't - the lock clicks, he pushes the door open cautiously, and slips inside.

The stink of old blood hits him first. Dried splatters decorate the walls. Blackened, discarded body parts reside in a crusted bucket by a splintered staircase, which appears to have had a grand piano thrown down it. Kou shakes his head at the waste. Apart from the piano and the gory contents of the bucket a few feet away, the rest of the house seems reasonably well-kept, if a bit dusty and run-down.

To his right, he can hear the sound of someone murmuring to themselves. A spell, probably. So he readies his wand. Inching along the wall, he peers around the corner.

The wall dividing the drawing room and the dining room has been knocked down to make room for a large acetone vat as well as a significant stock of replacement chemical. The heavy oak dining table has been moved into the space that was previously the drawing room, and is currently being used by a man he assumed would be Kouzaburou, the Sculptor. But the man doesn't have short, brown hair as he expects: their hair is white, with the strands falling a little past their shoulders - an awfully familiar silhouette.

He continues watching, confirming for himself as they summon one of the pieces of corpse to them from the vat with a flick of their wand that they are involved in the crime. There is little doubt that they are one of, if not the only, perpetrator. It fills him with a sick, stomach-churning nausea.

Then they turn, showing their profile visibly to him, and he feels the last shards of hope shatter within him.

It's Shougo, without a doubt.

He could have Stunned the other man silently. That is the proper procedure, and the least troublesome. He doesn't know what possesses him to step out deliberately, causing a floorboard to creak and alert Shougo to his presence. One last salute to the ethic of fair play that they've always upheld?

Shougo turns, expecting to see Touma, but instead is confronted by Kou.

The two of them are frozen for a single, fragile, precious moment of time.

It's amazing what you can notice in a second that passes infinitesimally slowly. Kou is aware of the room: corners full of cobwebs but work area clean. The disturbingly fresh-looking head on the table surface behind Shougo resting on its ear with its eyes closed. The sofa pushed against the wall looks regularly slept on, and there are two jackets slung over the back of it. One is recognisably Shougo's. To whom the other belongs, he cannot say. Perhaps there really is a Touma Kouzaburou, but he certainly isn't working alone.

There are other details he takes in but can't make sense of, such as why Shougo's usually neat clothing is dishevelled and looks carelessly thrown on. But there is no more time to ponder.

Kou raises his wand.

Shougo propels himself sideways, thrusting his wand ahead of him. The window he's aiming for shatters, and he leaps through the flying shards as a jet of red light hits the wall behind him. Kou blasts the front door open and sees Shougo tumbling, scrambling to his feet amidst the grimy, broken panes. His next Stunning spell misses as well, hitting the street ahead of Shougo as the albino takes off in earnest. Kou barely notices what he's destroying as their fight/flight takes them through the twisting, labyrinthine streets.

It's only when they reach a slightly more open space that Shougo turns and faces him.

"Kou, I-"

"DID YOU EVER FEEL ANYTHING FOR ME OR WAS I JUST A TOY FOR YOU TO PLAY WITH, WHILE YOU MURDERED PEOPLE BEHIND MY BACK?!" Kou yells as he violently slashes the air with his wand. A jet of red light crashes into the side of a house over Shougo's right shoulder, hard enough to shake it and leave a deep crater. Shougo fends off the debris with a ward but has to act quickly to avoid being hit by Kou's next spell - this time a jet of acid green.

Shougo dives out of the spell's way, the light hitting the wall beside the crater and leaving a faint scorch mark. Scrambling to his feet, he tries to avoid being boxed in but there is Kou, a whirlwind of snarling fury as he wields his wand with ferocity and precision. The albino barely has time to protect himself let alone counterattack. When he tries to get around the other man, Kou blocks his way and forces him back. When he tries to cast Stunning spells to stop his advance, Kou flicks them away with his wand like he's batting at ping-pong balls. Slowly, Shougo is forced into a corner, surrounded on three sides by the rubble of several buildings that he can't hope to scale quickly enough, trapped by the advancing Grim that is his lover.

Shougo tightens his hold on his wand, the wooden grip strangely dry instead of slippery with sweat as he feels it ought to be. He's terrified, and yet inside he's strangely calm. He knows death is approaching, yet he feels nothing but the desire to continue clinging to life until the moment Kou's Killing Curse rips it from his grip.

He expects Kou to end it now, but the man stalks right up to him and grabs his shirt, hauling him up with brute strength and slamming him against the rubble. Shougo gasps in pain as his head connects with a blunt edge and his vision swims, but he remains conscious. There's a clatter as his wand falls from his hand to the cobblestones. He doesn't try to resist.

" _Why_ , Shou?" Kou hisses.

Their faces are millimetres apart. Shougo opens his mouth to respond, but Kou crushes their lips together and scrambles thoughts of pleading for his life. The next few seconds are exhilarating - just as exhilarating as the fight they just had - but after those few short seconds, Kou is once again glaring into his eyes and waiting for an answer Shougo is not sure he can give him. The past few hours have seeded doubts in his mind about the authenticity of his emotions. Rationally, he knows he ought not to believe Touma, and yet he cannot deny the evidence of his own body.

Like that kiss just now. Just how natural was the exhilaration he felt - the surge of happiness that filled him to the brim with momentary optimism? Was he merely reciprocating, as Touma claimed, or did he possess the ability to love someone back?

He takes too long thinking. Eventually, Kou's gaze darkens and he releases Shougo, whose legs give way beneath him.

"I didn't want to believe it was you," Kou's voice is harsh, his wand tip pointing squarely at Shougo's heart. "But I can see that you're not the person I fell in love with over ten years ago." He almost spits his next words. "You're a monster."

_If I could kiss him again_ , Shougo thinks desperately, _I'd know._ And Kou would know. But in those grey eyes that see little other than the black and white of the world, he realises that his bright hue has been permanently tainted by the death his hands have helped sow. It's a blight he cannot erase, no matter how he might rub and rub at it like the Lady Macbeth in her sleep.

Kou's grip firms resolutely on his wand. Shougo drops his eyes to the ground, resigned to his fate. There's no innocence to protest, because he isn't innocent.

He hears the words uttered in a whisper, the barest amount of sound necessary to activate the spell.

As the green light rushes towards him, he lifts his eyes and his vision blurs. Kou's face disappears as green blots out all that he can see, its brightness overwhelming until he thinks he might go blind. And in the instant before the spell strikes his chest, he feels a trickle of warmth slide down his cheek.

_Ah, so these are what tears feel like._


	3. Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unexpected concluding chapter to this fic.

Most Aurors greet the resolution of their hunts with grim, if not true satisfaction. In the wake of the Specimen case however, there is no such elation. A thick, heavy storm of disquiet and tension hangs over the cubicles, the eye of which hovers - in a surprisingly literal sense - over one Shinya Kougami.

He volunteers to be the one to deliver the news to the Makishima family. It's only right. He was the one who took their son's life. Akane argues (weakly) that the Daily Prophet had splashed the news all over its front page just the other night, so surely there was no need? But he gave her a long, sad look that made her lower her eyes and mumble excuses before she slipped back to her desk.

Words had never been so hard to come by.

His mother stares at him across the kitchen table. Dry-eyed, cheeks hollow, rimmed with exhaustion, anger and immeasurable anguish. His father sits beside her, clutching his wife's hand tightly, immobile as a block of stone.

"...I don't believe it."

He says nothing.

"I don't believe you." Her voice breaks, tears and a sob escaping from the fragile restraints of composure. She leans over the table, light blue eyes burning - a sharp ache lances his heart - and she shrieks, "He didn't kill those girls. He wouldn't!"

Her husband shifts in his seat, lips parting; pursing as he reconsiders and looks away. His eyes are the shade of brown that tends to green. Not the same. She continues to scream at him.

_"He would never have harmed anyone! I know that, YOU know that! Why did you have to take his life?!"_

The crockery along the window explodes violently. The window itself cracks and then shatters outwards. She is on her feet now, eyes wild, the chair clattering on the tiles as she, heedless of the way gas hisses out of the stove behind her, tries to leap across the table and claw at him.

He watches it all happen with a distant sense of apathy. One of the shards has cut his cheek. He doesn't try to move away or make excuses, letting her husband try to wrestle his wife back while yelling something at the stove to stop the gas spreading. If anything, he is a little disappointed that the hissing ceases, that she calms enough to sit back down and throw only glares his way. He doesn't comment on how she seems to be sitting on air. And nor does her husband as he sits back down heavily.

The antique clock in the hall counts the long seconds of silence, the steady, regular beats echoing through the silent house.

_\--ick. Tock. Tick..._

"Will his body be returned to us?" his father quietly asks.

He nods once. "Yes. In two days." He'd make sure it wouldn't take a day longer. He feels those eyes - Shou's eyes - burning into his head but he can't bring himself to meet them.

"We should make arrangements then..." his father murmurs. But he doesn't move from his seat. His eyes flick worriedly between Kou and his wife, assessing the risk of leaving the two alone.

After half a minute more of uncomfortable silence, he clears his throat, rises to his feet and ducks out of the kitchen.

With a leaden sense of anticipation, Kou pulls his head up and meets a dead man's eyes. Pale like a frozen lake, thoughtful and contemplative. How many times has he looked into such eyes, more oft than not hid behind light gilt, and thought he saw the knowledge of the world contained within them? Such eyes were inherited from her, she whose glacial fury and simple denial carves another wound into his already guilt-ridden heart.

(Truth be told, he wishes he had her ignorance of his lover's final moments. Denial would come so much easier then.)

"You loved him," she says slowly, enunciating carefully as if he were hard of hearing.

He stares at the table.

"You loved him," she repeats, "and he loved you. Yet you--" She breaks off, distraught twisting her face into an ugly façade. She whispers, "Did you even ask why he was there? Did you even think you might have made a mistake?"

Wide eyes fixed on his face. Gold the shade of butterbeer and drizzled honey. No terror, just disbelief. He thinks of the scarf in his pocket - the scarf he can't bear to look at or wear right now - and blinks.

She sees the glimmer fall to his lap. Something in her expression changes and she sits back wordlessly. The broken kitchen shivers and slowly begins to repair itself. Plates reform, the windows seal, her chair rights itself and slides beneath her. The lingering smell of gas finally dissipates.

Neither of them notice Shou's father peer into the room and appear surprised at the room's wholesome state. He watches them, unsure, then retreats again to write another letter.

Kou clears his throat. His voice is hoarse. "I'm sorry," he croaks.

She says nothing. He clears his throat again.

"I want to tell you what happened...and how he died," he says tiredly.

 

Three days later, he sits at the back of the room given over for the wake, dressed head to toe in black, listening to the chanting of a Buddhist sutra. The Makishima family are not zealously religious, but they do keep a shrine in their house for the sake of tradition.

Shou's photograph is the centrepiece. Surrounding it are candles, incense, flowers. His parents are at the front of the room, heads bowed, his mother weeping softly into the shoulder of her husband. His arm wraps tightly around her, the only outward sign of his grief visible from Kou's spot.

He feels like an intruder. There are only two others in the room besides them: Akane and Choe. Akane, who had come as moral support for him, and Choe because the Korean was the only person expressly invited and willing to come. Choe seems oddly distracted and troubled the entire time, but Kou cannot bring himself to ask what the matter is. Not today of all days.

His listless eyes stare at the back of Choe's vest as the chanting finally reaches its conclusion. The priest's voice falls silent, leaving an empty hollow filled with the strong aroma of incense and candle smoke.

Akane rises first. Then Choe. They murmur condolences and are farewelled with a small, customary gift for the condolence money they brought. Husband and wife ignore Kou as he stands and follows Choe in shuffling out the door, implicitly understanding that they have no need of sympathy from their son's murderer. He leaves his own envelope behind nonetheless, expecting it to burn once he's gone.

Before he leaves, his eyes slide towards the wall beside the front door, where small frames of the family and their close relations hang. Those yellow eyes haunt him again.

He turns away.

Outside, the perpetually grey English sky seems even greyer than usual. Kou sniffs but inhales only exhaust fumes and the sharp scent of mown grass. No rain today.

He sweeps his gaze over the lawn. Flashes of laughter, peltings of snow. Flecks of cold whispering against his cheek, chased by the warmth of his breath. He turns his collar up and unwillingly tugs out the marigold scarf, wrapping it several times around his neck before trudging towards his motorcycle.

_"Kou..."_

The engine chokes as he wrenches the bike around, breathing hard. For a moment Kou believes he sees him. A thin, unhappy wraith standing across the street. As pale in life as in death. The image of pale eyes gazing mournfully at him burns in his memory long after he blinks and the apparition disappears.

He guns the throttle a little harder than necessary. The bike leaps into the street and powers away from the small manse, striving to leave its owner's painful recollections well behind in a cloud of dust and exhaust.


End file.
